


i feel evil (creeping in)

by rhllors



Series: demon daughter [1]
Category: Being Human, Being Human (UK)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Backstory, F/F, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-24
Updated: 2012-03-24
Packaged: 2017-11-02 11:44:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/368654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhllors/pseuds/rhllors
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They call her whore daughter and witch. Hel smiles, and tears out their throats with her glinting teeth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i feel evil (creeping in)

They call her whore daughter and witch. Helene smiles, and tears out their throats with her glinting teeth.

 

 

It's a farce, anyway. she really is a whore daughter. Her mother had been a wisp of a girl, barely a child before she bought another into the world. She cannot read or write, but she sings her daughter lullaby's at night to drown out the sounds of the brothel, the thudding and groaning. Here, pain and pleasure are intertwined as tightly as religion and kingship--this is the sixteenth century, and war is coming.

Helene doesn't know this, of course. She is four summers old and cares little about the world beyond her hands reach.

 

 

There are days which Helene takes care to remember.

She remembers the warmth of the sun of her face, making patterns swirl under her eyelids--she knew the route from the Thames to Old Kent Road she could walk it with her eyes closed. Her shoes clicked as she hopped over the uneven cobbles made these streets what they were--archaic and lived in, brimming with history and stories.

She remembers the stairs. The seventh one up always creaked if too much pressure was applied, and the twelfth had a small hole that, if you weren't careful, was easy to trip over. The surrounding houses were made of the same brick, whitewashed to hide the blemishes that covered them.

She remembers the way the door was wedged open, the obvious caused by a foot. Possibly a fist.

She remembers his face, slack jawed and gaping, hand clutching a dinner knife.

She remembers her mother's dress rumpled up around her waist, how her beautiful red hair mixed with the rapidly congealing blood on the dirtied linen, the cuts to her face, the slices into her neck.

She remembers breaking his neck with her bare hands.

 

 

The fact that she ends in Poland is a coincidence. Gdansk is flourishing now, a hubbub of life and trade. 

Wherever there are men, Helene has business.

Business runs in the family, after all.

 

 

Orsha---Orsha was a day that changed everything.

She likes war. Helene follows the war, and soldiers will pay pretty penny for a woman's charms. These Russian men are the sons of bears, her Lithuanian tells her, their women fuck them to keep warm. 

He is tall and dark, with a full beard that scratches against her face. He is all charm, politely handing over coin after their time is up--he is better than most, who wish to hold her in the night whilst their scream for their mothers and their lost limbs and their lost brothers. Her Lithuanian is uncomplicated.

Helene, however, remembers the sight of that glistening blood and always carries a knife in her bodice.

Orsha brings the death of her Lithuanian and--

It's not her death, not really.

(death implies ending, but really it is just the beginning)

 

 

His name is Snow. 

He claims he is older than Jesus, and Helene, taking in his mottled skin and rotting teeth, finds this explanation very plausible.

Snow is a vampire gone to seed. There is something there, a corruption, an imbalance, that is nothing to do with his condition. 

 

 

She meets Fergus at a Whorehouse in Dublin. Hel plays the part of shy virgin, meek and humble--he believes he will pillage her, ravage her.

Her little game is fun, and his facial expression when the little Irish virgin grows fangs is so beautiful. She fucks him hard into the straw mattress and tears out his throat.

After, she lies naked, smeared in his blood, smoking opium on the soiled bedsheets. The poppy makes her see things--her beautiful Lithuanian, the man with the broken neck. Much later, Herrick (during one of his shorter speeches) will tell her that vampires run from their pasts because they are disgusted about how pedestrian they used to be. Hel disagrees--she says that vampires run from their futures. Futures that promise nothing more than want, addiction.

Blood is stronger than any poppy.

(Fergus wakes, and a match made in hell begins.)

 

 

Hel rides a white horse, and wears the most beautiful armor, made by a friend in Constantinople.

She is bellatrix, the female warrior, the amazon. 

She is beautiful and terrible. So terrible.

 

 

"My friend--she's got a weakness for girls, y'see. She gets a bit animalistic about them--but that's Hel, you see?" Fergus puffs at his pipe (another addiction picked up from his mother-in-darkness), leaning back on the staircase, ignoring the muffled cries of the chambermaid, "Blood and sex aren't separate for her. Intertwined."

The chambermaid starts to scream, and the creaking of the ancient staircase alert him to the arrival of his companion from the basement, where he'd put the ladies of the house. A treat for his lady.

There she stands, blood smeared from around her mouth to soft skin between her heaving breasts, exposed by the torn shirt she was wearing. She has never looked more brutal, he thinks with a smile, remembering the shy maid from Ireland, and she has never looked more beautiful.

Hel sends Fergus a half-smile, "I left one of the daughters for you, sweetheart." she says, vaguely motioning towards the basement, before moving to straddle the bound chambermaid, who had first turned an alarming shade of puce before beginning to sob into the gag.

At the bottom of the stairs he hears the groan mixed with a death rattle, and smiles.

 

 

She was definitely made a name for herself now, Lady Hel, daughter of a demon.

 

 

Ivan is only one who calls her Helene, in a vaguely paternalistic fashion.

(this doesn't stop them from fucking like animals in what used to be Bibao, but the point still counts)

He is witty and fond of dancing, and they are always the most fashionable. They jived, quickstepped, jitterbugged before the masses did, and she is always laughing. Most of the vampires are terrified of her now, fleeing or bowing in her wake, but Ivan just made jokes about that time when she wore a fake blackbird in her wig (because it was fashionable at the time you dick) or that time she got a little, well, excited in 1919 (they were asking for it, obviously. Jubilant boy soldiers returning valiantly from war--pretending that they didn't scream in their sleep--were easy prey. Six at once was a little excessive, yes, but still). 

Ivan takes Daisy dancing now.

She finds herself okay with this. Daisy is like wildfire, and Ivan doesn't mind getting burnt.

 

 

She paints her lips red, and goes to meet a very special solicitor.

History is made.

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel coming soon because I have no priorities. In my head, cisgrrl!Hal is played by Rebecca Hall.


End file.
